


Hanson Billings Audio Log, Sep-Oct 2040

by TheParafox



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Audio log, Canon - Audio, Companion Piece, Dialogue, Dialogue-Only, Epistolary, Future, Gen, Infection, Monologue, October, Post-Apocalyptic, September - Freeform, Spoilers, The Rest of Us - Freeform, audio recorder, diegetic audio, not actual audio content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheParafox/pseuds/TheParafox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion to my other work,The Rest of Us. Contains spoilers until Chapter 18: Day Twenty-Three - Rest Stop. </p><p>Hanson Billings' audio log, given to Ellie at the rest stop. Documents the final two months of Hanson's group living trapped in the theme park in the middle of the Mall of America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanson Billings Audio Log, Sep-Oct 2040

“Hanson Billings audio log, August someth—Actually wait, no, it’s prolly September by now. Hard to know without our calendar—no thanks to Keller. Anyway, today was the first day Nathaniel radioed without actually sayin’ anything. Nobody knew what the hell to think of it. Alex tried callin’ back several times, but still nothin’. My personal theory is that he somehow managed to butt-dial us.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. No call from Nathaniel today, at all. Group’s gettin’ a lil worried, but in the name of not assuming the worst, he probably either lost it or broke it or somethin’. Or maybe forgot. But it ain’t like him to forget.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. Another butt-dial. This time just about everyone was present, so Alex pulled out his radio and we gathered ‘round. Some o’ the group swore they could hear someone breathing. I was too far back to really tell.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. The preserved food from the storage locker we found is runnin’ out fast. We were fuckin’ hungry. But hey, those were the best damn peaches I had in a _long_ time.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. Enrique finally bit the dust today. We mourned, obviously, but I guarantee you everyone was breathin’ a sigh of relief inside that they wouldn’t have to split rations anymore with some sick chucklefuck that was clearly on his way out anyway.”

“I’m getting sick and tired of sayin’ the same shit over and over every time. I’m also not in the brightest o’ moods after all these recent deaths. Not that I cared about them—again, more food for us—but if people keep dyin’, it means there ain’t much hope left. We found Samantha on her mattress with her throat slit and a shard of bloodied glass in her hand. She’d scribbled a bunch of unreadable shit all over the floor around her. Lots o’ meaningless numbers an’ equations, and some words too, we think, but nobody could read her handwriting. Prolly shakin’ too bad or somethin’. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. What matters is, people are losin’ hope.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. I guess Enrique and Samantha were ‘romantically entwined’ or somethin’. I never cared enough to notice, but apparently everyone else knew. Whatever. Romance ain’t really something you see much of anymore. Just fucking for repopulation purposes. Some of the group on the one hand thought it was uplifting that romance still existed, but on the other hand were disheartened because one o’ the last ‘actual’ relationships in the world had ended. ‘Course, the straight guys were disheartened that the last vagina in their immediate proximity had expired. I’m not sure where I sit in all that.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. Realized I forgot to mention Samantha was prego. Ahem, pregnant. So I s’pose you know what that means. It’s only been a couple o’ days, but already I’m seein’ more porn magazines lyin’ around, and I can’t tell whether it’s carelessness or a sort of silent gift for whoever stumbles by and takes interest. Either way, I ignore ‘em. Never cared for that sorta thing. And I’m no prude, by any means. I just never—Good god, this is an audio log, not a teenager’s fuckin’ diary. No one cares.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. The butt-dialing is gettin’ less and less frequent. I should prolly stop callin’ it butt-dailing, ‘cause it’s pretty clear it ain’t accidental. I actually heard breathin’ from the other end today. Alex keeps tryin’ to make conversation, tryin’ different tactics, but there’s still never any response.”

“Hanson Billings, September 2040. It's been a few days, and there hasn't been a single radio call. Group's startin' to get hunger pains pretty bad.”

“Hanson Billings, October 2040. Scary thing happened today. Overheard a couple guys talkin' about who we'd eat first, if it came to it. From what I heard, it sounded like they'd be after Soren, the scrawny Swedish kid, since he don't pack enough muscle nor ingenuity to be useful. I feel like I oughtta report it to Alex, but honestly, if that's the only way to survive... I mean, sometimes survival takes precedence over morals, I guess.”

“Hanson Billings, October 2040. I don’t want to say this too loud for fear that someone’ll hear me, but I found a fuckin’ motherlode of food in a safe in the back room o’ the doll shop. The safe’s lock was busted, so I opened ‘er right up and there were just _stacks_ of canned food. It was glorious! I know it’s selfish to keep it to myself, but I can justify it: if we split it up, the entire group will eat it all much faster than one person. We’ll all die off at the same time. But if I keep it to myself, it’ll let one member of the group live until someone finds me or I find a way out. Everyone else’ll starve, yes. I understand that. But at least someone’ll still be here for a long while after.”

“I, uh. _Shit_. I don’t know what happened. I… I woke up, and most o’ the group was gone. There was nothing but blood n’ scraps left. And I had a motherfucker of a stomachache. I looked in the can of beans I ate, and saw something I must’ve missed because I was so hungry: spores. I don’t know what happened, but my best guess… I… I… _ate_ … them… the other group members… i-in some sort of infected… _state_. I have no idea why I’m back to normal now. I… _Holy fuck_. The others don’t know yet, thank Christ Almighty. They were at the other side of the park, and I just played dumb when they got back. I… I should probably check the other cans of food.”


End file.
